Hell Week
by Winchesterforlife
Summary: During a one week survival training session, Dean and Sam are critically injured; John's not certain how he's going to survive if he loses them. Hurt!Sam, Guilty!John, and Limp!Dean
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters.**

**Hey guys! I wrote this because we're coming up on Hell Week at my school and I'm getting stressed out. So I figured that Sam and Dean must have had something like it when they were young. Please read and review!**

**Sam is ten, Dean is fourteen.**

If there was one thing Dean hated, it was Hell Week.

That's what he was thinking as he ran the last mile of his ten-mile solo trek. His father had dropped him off about an hour ago, with instructions to keep running straight ahead. He had only a backpack with a single water bottle in it, and he felt like he was about to pass out. But when he reached the car, he knew that he would be allowed ten minutes of rest, before he started off again-this time with Sam in tow.

This ritual had began when he was five years old, and the one year anniversery of his mother's death had arrived. Instead of doing the normal thing-burying his emotions in a bottle-John Winchester had packed his sons up and hit the road. He'd taken Dean to a secluded forest, and they had trained. Of course, his first Hell Week had been a lot different than the ones he was expected to be able to do now. The first time he had experienced Hell Week, John had been by his side, with an eighteen month old Sammy in a carrier on his back. He'd only had to run two miles back then-of course, two miles was difficult for a five-year-old. Then, John had showed him how to set up his shelter, and he had been able to feel safe, knowing that his father was with him.

When Dean turned eight, John had decied that he was able to undergo Hell Week on his own. Of course, John was never far away-typically, he was just out of sight, but that was enough for Dean to feel alone. But Hell Week did it's job. Dean learned how to survive in the wilderness, and rely on himself.

Hell Week was made up of seven days of pure torture. They were never the same, never easy. Hell Week gave Dean nightmares, made him shiver at the very mention.

Sam hadn't really become a part of Hell Week until he turned six years old-up until he was three, John had carried him on his back, and when Sam turned four and five he was left at Bobby's or Pastor Jim's. When Sam startd Hell Week, John went easier on him. Dean would run his first few miles alone, because Sam was younger-and then, he would pick Sammy up and they would run together.

As Dean rounded the last corner, he caught a glimpse of the Impala. He sighed in relief and sprinted towards the car, thinking of a drink of cold water and a few minutes to rest in the air-conditioned vehicle.

"Fifty-four minutes and twenty one seconds," John announced as Dean passed the hood of the car. "That's good, Ace."

"Thanks...Dad," Dean gasped, reaching for the water bottle John was holding. He took a few sips and doubled over as he fought to catch his breath. He coughed a few times-he'd been doing that a lot lately. He was getting over a bad cold, and it was kicking his ass.

"Here, get in the car. You've got ten minutes to recover," John told his eldest, holding open the door. John considered letting his son out of Hell Week, but then he realized that demons wouldn't wait. If his sons were sick when some ghoul or ghost attacked, they couldn't call in sick. Innocents would die; they would die.

Dean needed to learn to push through his pain. He needed to learn that he was strong enough to fight, even when he wasn't at a hundred percent. This would help Dean in the end.

Dean slid into the car and closed his eyes. He knew that this would be his last chance to truly relax for a week.

"How was it, Dean?" Sammy asked his older brother. Sam was only ten, and had never known exactly how far Dean was expected to run or what he was expected to do-he just knew that Dean was required to do much more than he was.

"Not bad," Dean lied, opening his eyes and looking at his brother. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Sam sighed. "I have to run five miles this year."

Dean smiled; Sam didn't know how good he had it. Five miles was a piece of cake. Fifteen wasn't.

"Well, I've got your back out there," Dean promised his sibling. He was feeling a bit better-he knew that he would be able to make it to the camp, even if he passed out as soon as he arrived.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam grinned at his older brother. Dean always had his back; Dean was the only thing that helped him get through Hell Week.

"Okay, boys," John poked his head in the car. "Time to hit the road."

Dean and Sam got out of the car and stood at attention, waiting for their father's orders.

"You're going to run straight ahead for five miles before you hit the marker I left at camp. You'll make your own shelter-I left you a tarp, you decide how you want to use that. You guys take the night to rest and eat-I packed you some MREs."

John tossed each boy a backpack; Dean groaned. He hated MREs-they were disgusting, and when he ate them it felt like he was eating on top of that, his backpack was heavy. He knew his father had probably packed the majority of the MREs and weapons in his pack, because Sam was just a ten year old kid.

"I'd get going if I were you." John told his sons. "You've got about two hours until dark."

And Sam and Dean set off-one weary and one eager.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters. **

**Sam is ten, Dean is fourteen. **

Dean was laying wide awake, listening to the sound of the rain hit the roof of their makeshift shelter and watching Sammy sleep. He felt horrible-he couldn't stop coughing, and sleep was evading him. It was a mixture of the cold, the sound of the rain, and his own illness. The shelter didn't have walls-it was just a tarp, held up by four branches stuck in the mud.

He checked his watch-it was four thirty in the morning. In half an hour, he would wake Sammy up. He wondered what they would be doing today-John never told them what their tasks would be until they had to do them.

Dean realized that this was a messed up situation; it was probably considered child abuse, or neglect, or some other trumphed-up charge. But Dean knew that his father did this for his own good.

He decided that he was going to give up on sleep for the night. He crawled out from the shelter and into the woods to use the bathroom. He walked pretty far out for some privacy. As he finished, he began to cough. And cough. And cough.

Dean couldn't breathe. He was suffocating-he tried to take a breath, but couldn't. He thought he was about to pass out-but then, he threw up.

"Shit," Dean mumbled, shivering. He felt like crap; his eyelids felt like sandpaper, and the taste in his mouth was horrible. But he couldn't quit; that would disappoint his dad, and he didn't have the stomach to do it.

So he sucked it up, stopped shaking, and walked back to camp. He checked his watch-it was five in the morning. He began to prepare a fire, because it was cold and he didn't want Sammy getting sick. Then, he reached into his backpack and pulled out two MREs-today, they would be eating Egg-McMuffin flavored goop, and he would be drinking instant coffee.

By then, it was about five-thirty, so Dean went to retrieve Sammy. As he crawled into thier makeshift tents, he notice a piece of pper on the ground He picked it up; it was a note from his father. He was certain it hadn't been there before-which meant he was probably about to get chewed out for leaving Sammy alone for two minutes.

_Dean,_

_You kept up a good pace at the beginning of your run yesterday, but the last five m iles were too slow. I had hoped you would push Sam to put a little more effort into training, but I geuss I was wrong. Speaking of Sam-you left him alone for a long time this morning, dead asleep. I realize you can't always bring him with you, but you should have woken him up if you knew you were going to be a while. He could have been killed, or kidnapped. I expected more out of you. _

_But we'll talk about that later. Today, you're hiking four miles northwest. with sandpacks. Yours weighs fourty pounds, Sam's is twenty. You'll end up at a river, and you're going to swim across. Do what you need to do to keep your things dry. After you get out of the river, you'll be running for three miles until you hit the campsite I've marked for you. You'll have to set it up on your own-let Sam do the shelter, while you set the fire. Dry your stuff by the fire and spar for a couple hours. Make sure that Sam isn't up after ten-you'll have to be well rested for tomorrow. _

_Today is an easy day; take advantage of it. Rest up. The day after tomorrow is going to be difficult. _

_Dad_

After he had finished reading the note, Dean bowed his head in disappointment. He could never please Dad. Deep down, he was annoyed-why was _he _always responsible for Sam's mistakes?

But Dad was right. Dean _should _have pushed Sam harder, but he didn't. All he could do was not make the same mistake twice. So he plastered a smile on his face and walked into the shelter, where Sammy was still dead asleep.

"Rise n' shine, Sammy!" Dean announced, grinning. Sam's eyes slowly opened, and he looked up at his brother.

"Dean, you look like shit," Sam mumbled, sitting up. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Course I did," Dean lied, walking over to the fire. "I just couldn't sleep through your snoring."

"I don't snore!" Sam exclaimed, incredulous. "You're a liar."

"Sure I am," Dean chuckled, pulling out two MREs. Today's meal was egg-flavored goop with sausage-like slivers. "Now come eat. We have to hit the road soon."

SUPERNATURAL

After a quick meal-Dean was hardly able to choke any of it down-Sam and Dean had packed up and started walking. It was slow going-the sandpacks were heavy. Dean was strong, but he was skinny-he weighed only 110 pounds, but it was pure muscle.

"Dean, this hurts," Sammy complained. "It's digging into my shoulder."

Dean looked back at his little brother. The straps of his backpack were twisted; he sighed and fixed them for his sibling. Sometimes, Samy was so damn _needy _that he couldn't stand it.

"There, you're all se-," Dean began, but was cut off as he began to cough again. _Ow.. _His chest ached, and he thought he would throw up. He doubled over, as the vomit rose in his throat. But he swallowed the bile-he couldn't seem weak in front of Sammy.

"Dean, you're really sick," Sam said, his eyebrows knit in concern.

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean lied. Really, he hadn't felt this crappy in a long time.

"Dean, you're definately _not_," Sam disagreed. "I've heard the way you cough, and you're practically radiating heat. You need to be inside somewhere, resting."

"Yeah, well, I can't," Dean announced, angry. Sam was always making a mountain out of a molehill-it pissed him off.

"How can Dad do this to you? " Sam asked incredously. "How can you _let_ him do this to you?"

"Shut up, Sam!" Dean shouted at his brother. It pissed him off how Sam had no loyalty to his father. "Just keep running."

And he sped off, leaving his brother in the dust.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow. **

**Thanks for all of the reviews and reads!**

When Dean arrived at the river, he sighed. He'd left Sam in the dust, in order to gain some time to clear his head. But he didn't get to; he was far to busy stopping every fifty feet to cough. He was also freezing, despite the layers of clothing he was wearing. But despite the bone-chilling cld, he was sweating. Being sick seriously sucked.

Dean decided that he should survey their next challenge. He turned to the river, and sighed. The river was about fifteen feet wide, and they were going to have to walk _through _it. Dean dipped his hand into the water-it was freezing. Dean wondered absentmindedly if his father was trying to kill them.

He looked around to see if he could find a log that would take them across the river. But there was nothing; he wouldn't have put it past his father to have moved them, so they would have to rely on their own strenght.

At that moment, Sam arrived at the river. He took a couple of minutes to recover-he wasn't as good at running as Dean was. He was also afraid of seeing Dean. He hated when his big brother was sick; he hated even more when he couldn't help him.

When Sam saw his brother, the first thing he noticed was how pale Dean was. He was shivering, and he didn't even seem to realize it. Dean, the strongest person he knew, looked sickly.

And it terrified Sam.

He was wondering if he should try to talk Dean into sitting this one out, when Dean spoke up.

"I've looked around," he announced, without turning around. He didn't want to see Sam's face, to _know _that he was disappointing Sammy. How could an older brother who couldn't avoid catching a cold help Sam through this task? "There's nothing that can help us across. We're going to have to walk through it."

"How are we going to keep our stuff dry?" Sam asked, concerned. The last thing Dean needed was to walk around in wet clothes; it would make his illness even worse.

"It's only about three and a half feet deep," Dean replied. "I'll carry it in my backpack."

"I can carry some, Dean," Sam protested-Dean was going to run himself into the ground.

"It's up to my waist, Sam. It's up to your chest," Dean reminded him. "I can carry it."

Sam reluctantly handed his backpack to Dean, who was stripping down to his boxes.

"What are you doing!" Sam exclaimed.

"Clthes will weigh us down," Dean expalined, stuffing his clothes into his backpack. "You can keep yours on, if you want."

Dean was right, as uaual. He was knowledgable about what he had to do, and he didn't hesitate to do it. It's what made him such a great hunter.

Dean waited for Sam to be ready before wading into the water. He began to shiver so violently that he almost dropped the backpacks. He heard Sam gasp, and glimpsed back; when he saw Sam was following, he gritted his teeth and continued to move across the river.

When Dean reached the other side, he collapsed onto the ground. His legs felt frozen, and were nearly useless. He knew that he needed to put on some new clothes, but he had to wait for Sammy. It was his job to make sure the kid was safe.

"C-can't m-m-move," Sam announced, shivering. Dean pulled the tarp out of his bag and wrapped it around Sammy.

"Go put on the warmest clothes you have," Dean ordered. He was worried; Sam's lips were blue, and the boy was shivering worse than he was.

"I-I don't have any warm clothes with me," Sam chattered.

Dean sighed-_how could Sam have been so stupid_- and reached into his own bag. He pulled out his thickest pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. "Put these on."

Sam was too cold to argue. "Thanks, Dean."

As Sam hobbled off to change, Dean pulled on a tattered pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. Those were his only warm clothes; he had outgrouwn everything else.

Dean figured that they should at least take a while to dry off and warm up, so he decided to start a fire. When Sam came back, Dean was lying by it, his head on one of the backpacks. His eyes were closed; Dean was asleep.

Sam realized how Dean shivered and coughed, even in his sleep. How could his father do this to his son? Couldn't he see how Dean was suffering?

For an hour, Sam sat by the fire; then he realized they still have a four mile run ahead of them. So he shook Dean awake.

"Dean," he whispered. "We have to go."

Dean got to his feet, exhausted. If possible, he felt even worse-now, his head was throbbing. He was swaying on his feet, as if he was about to fall over.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, concerned. Dean noticed that Sam was shivering-_what if Sam was sick_?

Automatically, Dean reached out to feel Sam's forehead. He wasn't running a fever-a good sign.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, incredulous.

"Nothing," Dean answered. "Let's get going."

And so they set off to find their campsite.

SPNSPNSPN

The next morning, Dean woke up to the sound of Sam coughing. His heart dropped-how could Sam get through this challenge if he was sick?

But Sam was still asleep; Dean figured he would give his little brother a little more time, so that he could begin to feel better. Dean didn't want Sam to be as sick as Dean was now.

Dean walked over to the charred remains of their fire pit, but to his suprise, there was a man sitting there. A man he knew well.

"Dad!" Dean exclaimed, then winced=his throat was sore from so much coughing.

"Hey, Dean," John greeted his eldest. Dean looked relatively healthy; a bit pale, but otherwise fine. "I broght you breakfast."

He handed Dean a paper bag-inside was a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwhich on a croissant, Dean's favorite breakfast food. Dean smiled-it was gestures like this that reminded him that his father turly cared about them. Dean ate the sandwich, relishing his first hot meal in three days.

"I've been watching you guys. You've done really well so far," John assured his eldest. "Today, I've set up an obstacle course. The sooner you get through it, the sooner you can move on to the next part of the challenge."

"Okay," Dean nodded. "I'll wake up Sammy."

Dean walked over to their makeshift shelter and shook his brother awake. "Sammy?"

Sam's eyes opened slowly, and he looked up at his older brother. "What?"

"We've got to get going," Dean answered. "Dad has breakfast for you."

"Dad's here?" Sam asked, snapping awake. "Is he taking us home?"

"No, Sammy," Dean replied sympathetially. "But he has food out there, I thought I saw a bacon, egg, and cheese out there for you.."

Grinning, Sammy jumped up and rushed out to his father; Dean laughed at his brother's excitement. As he packed up, he thought, _this won't be so bad_. They would finish the last few days of the challenge and then rest up at a motel for a few days before moving on to the next job.

If he had known what would happen, he would have taken Sammy and run.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow. **

**Thanks for all of the reviews and reads!**

An hour later, Dean and Sam were running through an obstacle course, drenched in their own sweat. Their father had put together a challenging course togehter-it included running the tires, doing fifty sit ups, running windsprints, and escaping from a locked trunk. By the time Dean was finished with his windsprints, his lungs were on fire.. He was coughing again, more than ever; He was feeling lightheaded, and all he wanted to do was lie down-but he couldn't, or his father would just tack on more challenging events.

After he had managed to open the locked trunk and escape-his final challenge-he promplty walked over to a tree, leaned behind it, and threw up.

"You okay, Ace?" John asked, handing his son a water bottle. He looked over his son-Dean was a bit pale, but he chalked it up to exhaustion. He decided that he would let them rest for the night once they were finished with the next part of the challenge.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered, rinsing out his mouth. "It must have been something I ate. Don't worry, I'm ready to move on."

"You sure? Because you can come home and we'll finish the rest of the course later," John offered. He typically didn't let his sons chicken out-but Dean looked sickly, and Sam was coughing too.

"No thank you, sir," Dean answered. He didn't want to seem weak in front of his father or his brother. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?" John asked.

"Yes, sir," Dean answered. He wiped the sweat from his face, plastered on a smile, and asked, "So, what's the next part?"

SPN

After a five mile run that felt more like a fifty mile run, Dean and Sam reached a solid rock wall. It was at least fifty feet tall, and jagged-it looked threatening. Dean knew what his father was thinking, and he didn't like it a bit.

"You're climbing it," John told his sons, reaching in his bag for the safety equipment he brought.

Dean looked at Sam-the poor kid looked terrified. He was terrified of heights-had been ever since he was little.

"Come on, I'll hook you up," John told his sons. "Dean, you first."

Dean stepped forward and pulled on his harness. He tightened it, and made sure he was prepared.

Dean looked up, ready for his father to check his knots-but he didn't. John was busy helping Sam tie his knots and tighten the harness. Dean figured that he would be alright-he had tied these knots hundreds of times-he would bee fine.

"Okay, Ace, let me clip you in," John attached Dean to his belay cord. "Watch out for your brother up there, okay?"

"Sure thing, Dad," Dean looked over to Sammy, who was trembling. His face was white as a sheet-he looked like he was giong to pass out.

Dean walked over to his brother, determined to calm his nerves. "You okay?"

"I hate heights, Dean," Sam answered, peering up at the rock wall. "What if I fall?"

"You're not going to fall," Dean assured his sibling. "Dad has you hooked in tight."

"Are you sure?" Sam queried, looking over at his big brother.

"Of course I'm sure," Dean answered, his voice confident. "I've got your back up there, baby brother."

"THanks, Dean," Sam replied. He was a bit more willing to climb up the wall now-he trusted Dean.

"You guys almost ready?" John asked. They only had a couple moe hourss until dark-he didn't want them getting lost in the woods. "If you want to have time to do some belaying, you're going to have to start."

"Yeah, Dad," Dean answered. He flashed Sam a reassuring grin, and then took the first step up the rock wall.

It was slow going, but soon they were halfway up. Dean decided to stop for a minute-he couldn't stop coughing, and it was hard to breathe.

"Dean? Can I try belaying?" Sam asked. Once they were off of the ground, he had become less frightened-he was almost daring.

Dean thought it would be perfectly safe for Sam to attempt it. So he nodded, and said, "Sure, Sammy."

Sam leaned back and kicked off of the rock wall quickly, with far too much force-and without warning his father, so he could feed the line.

Within seconds, Sam was freefalling, and John was struggling to grab onto the line.. Dean watched in horror as Sam fell down two stories, screaming the entire way.

"SAMMY!" He screamed. He couldn't see or hear his baby brother any more-was Sam dead?

But then, he heard sobbing, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sam was concious, and responding-he was _awake. _

"Dean, Sam's going to be okay!" John shouted up at his eldest as he kneeled by Sam's side. John had managed to grab the line when Sam was about six feet from the ground; he wasn't able to stop the kid from falling, but it was enough to stop him from hitting the ground at full impackt. He looked at his son-his arm was sticking out at an angle, and his leg looked like it was broken.

"Daddy, it hurts!" Sam cried, reaching out for John. John almost froze-Sam hadn't called him Daddy since he was four years old.

"I know, Sammy, but you have to stay still, okay?" John reminded his youngest. John didn't want to risk paralysis if Sam aggravated a neck injury.

"Dad, I'm coming down!" Dean yelled, panicked. Sure, his brother was _awake_, but he was also in pain.

"Sam, do you want Dean?" John asked.

A tear rolled down Sam's face, and he said, "Please."

"Alright, Dean!" John shouted up at his eldest. "Go ahead!"

Dean kicked off of the rock wall. He was fine for a moment-he started swinging back to the rocks, like he was supposed to. But then, all hell broke lose.

Suddenly, the knot that Dean had tied came undone, and he crashed into the rocks.

"DEAN!" John screamed. _Not again_!

But Dean was falling. Just as far as Sammy had, with just as much force-and there was no way that John could help him.

Dean was screaming in agony as he crashed into rock after rock. He could taste blood, and the rest of his body was on fire. His last thought was, _I'm sorry, Dad. _

And then he crashed into the ground, and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow. **

**Thanks for all of the reviews and reads!**

The next few minutes seemed to drag on for hours. As John ran over to Dean, his eldest, his amazing, intelligent, _brillant _son, he was terrified. Dean had just fallen from two, maybe three stories up, and he wasn't moving. At all.

Sam was dragging himself towards his brother, holding back a scream. He'd never seen Dean truly _broken _before; he was his strong, capable older brother.

But now, splayed out on the ground, Dean was shattered.

"Sam, DON'T MOVE!" John shouted at his youngest son. But Sam had never been particularly good at following orders-he continued his slow, steady army crawl towards Dean.

John cursed under his breath-Sam was going to aggravate his own injuries. But he didn't have time to fight his son-he had to call an ambulence. Dean probably had broken bones and ruptured organs-he needed to be at a hospital, as soon as possible.

John grabbed his cellphone, and dialed 911-but there was no signal. He was beginning to panic; clouds were rolling in, he couldn't call an ambulance, and his care was parked two miles away.

He knew there was only one option; to grab Dean, run to the car, and send help back for Sammy.

Dean would never forgive him-he would never forgive himself if Sam got hurt-but this was how it had to be.

John ran back over to his sons. Sam was sitting by Dean's side, clutching his arm and sobbing in agony. Dean was just laying there, eyes closed, his breath coming in short and uneven pants.

"Sam, I'm going to have to get Dean out of here," John announced, kneeling at his son's side.

A flash of pain appeared in Sam's eyes-he had always known that his father loved his brother more than him. John noticed, and quickly redirected.

"It's just that he's really hurt. He needs to get to a hospital, now," John explained. "I'll call for an ambulence the second I get to the car, where there's service."

"Okay," Sam nodded, wincing in pain. "Be careful with Dean, Dad."

John pulled a pistol out of the waistband of his jeans, and handed it to Sam.

"If you see anything rustling, shoot first, ask questions later," John instructed nervously. He didn't want to leave his ten-year-old alone, in the middle of nowhere, with a broken leg and a potienally broken arm; but he didn't have much choice.

"I know, Dad," Sam replied. "I-I'll be fine."

John pulled off his jacket and covered Sam's legs with it. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will," Sam answered.

With that, John turned to the broken form of his fourteen-year-old. He had to be careful with Dean-if he irritated a spinal injury, Dean could be paralyzed for life.

With a last look back at Sam, John picked Dean up and began the race to the car, hoping that his sons would be okay.

John wasn't a praying kind of man, but as he rushed towards his care, he found himself bargaining with whatever higher power was up there.

_If they're okay, I'll never leave them again. _

_Please, just let him live. _

It was a struggle to carry Dean-although he was extremely light, he was tall. John felt like a failure as a parent-he couldn't even make sure that his son was eating enough.

When he reached his car, he slid Dean into the backseat and reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened it-still no signal.

It was beginning to rain, and John was caught between a rock and a hard place.

He could drop Dean off at the hospital, and turn around-but Sam would be alone for a while. If Sam was seen, John was screwed.

But he really didn't have a choice.

And so he got into the car and sped off in the direction of the nearest hospital.

"Dean, you can't give up," John announced to his unconcious son. "We're a few minutes away from the hospital, you have to fight."

Of course, there was no response-only Dean's labored breathing.

A couple minutes later, there was silence. John looked back at his son-Dean wasn't breathing.

"DEAN!" he shouted. "Come on, you've got to breathe."

Of course, Dean didn't reply.

John hit the gas and sped down the road, determined to save his son.

When he reached the hospital a couple minutes later, he parked right in front of the double doors. He threw open the back door of the Impala, grabbed his son, and ran inside.

"I need some help here!" John shouted, staring at Dean. His hair was matted with blood, and his lips were blue-he was _dying. _

"Right here!" a doctor in a white lab coat shouted, indicating a gurney. John placed his son on the cot and tore his eyes away from Dean.

Nurses and doctors were rushing towards the gurney, shoving John out of the way-he tried to keep Dean in his sights, but he couldn't.

As Dean was whisked behind the double doors, John almost fell to the floor. _That was his little boy. _

But he couldn't afford to be weak. He had to get back to Sammy. He had to drive him to Prescott Children's-he couldn't have two children in the same hospital, CPS would be curious.

"I need your insurance," the secretary at the counter told him, looking up expectantly.

John obliged, impatient. Sam needed him. He had to get back to him.

"Okay, I just need you to fill out this paperwork, and the doctor will get back to you as soon as he can," she told John, handing him a packet of papers. "You can take a seat over there."

"Is my son alright?" John asked. That's all he wanted to know; all he cared about. He could deal with the fallout later.

"I'm not sure, Mr. O'Brian," the secretary replied. "But they're working on him right now, and Dr. York is the best of the best."

John nodded and went back to his seat, worried. Not only was one of his sons hurt-probably being operated on right now-but he had another one who was alone in the middle of nowhere, with substantial injuries.

What was he going to do?


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow. **

**Thanks for all of the reviews and reads!**

Dean was sinking.

He couldn't see-his eyelids were heavy, heavier than they should be. No matter how much he struggled to open them, they wouldn't budge.

Even breathing was difficult-every time he tried to inhale, it was like someone was stabbing him with a white-hot blade. Soon, it became impossible-it was like there was a hundred pound weight on his chest.

So he quit trying.

"DEAN!" he could hear his father's voice, thick with concern and pain. "Come on, you've got to breathe."

He wished he could tell his father that he was sorry. _It's too hard. _The pain was slowly subsiding, and he began to feel like he was floating away.

"I need some help here!" his father was carrying him now, and he was cold. Were they outside?

He could hear a reply, but the words were unclear. _Was he dying?_

He couldn't die like this. He was only fourteen-still a kid. He hadn't accomplished anything, hadn't changed anyone's life. He needed more _time. _

But still, he could feel himself floating away. He was looking down at his body now, hovering above the scene. There were doctors and nurses surrounding him-not _him, _but his body.

His body was battered. Blood poured from a wound on his head, his entire face was blue, his arm and leg looked broken, and he was covered in small lacerations.

Dean thought about his family. His father-he'd never had a chance to show him what he was made of. He thought of Bobby, the man who had been like a second father to him. He thought of Sammy, his sweet, smart, amazing little brother.

_Sammy. _

He couldn't leave Sam alone with his father-they would kill each other. Sam couldn't understand their dad's motives, and his dad was too stressed to try to see Sam's side of the moment.

That was what gave him the strength to fight. He wasn't ready to leave his family yet-he needed them. They gave him strength and support, and he needed to be there to return the favor.

"Clear!" a doctor shouted, and Dean could _hear _him. He was back in his body.

A painful shock raged through his body, and suddenly, he could _breathe. _It was labored, it was painful, but he was _breathing._

"We've got a pulse," someone-a nurse?-announced.  
>"Clear the OR," a male voice announced, as someone slipped something over Dean's nose and mouth. "He's got massive internal injuries."<p>

That was the last thing Dean heard before things went entirely black, and he was gone.

SPNSPNSPN

It was raining.

Sam Winchester was laying out in the open, trying to avoid moving-every time he shifted his position, he was plunged into agony.

But he didn't care. All he could think about was Dean.

Dean, his thoughtful and caring big brother. Dean had always been there for him-always had his back and covered for him.

What would he do if his brother-if Dean-

_You can't think like that, Sammy_. The realization came in Dean's voice-it was something his brother had said often, whenever Sam thought he'd failed a test, or that Dad wasn't coming home. _Everything will work out._

And Dean had always been right.

It was getting dark now, and Sam could hear the howl of a dog. _Or a werewolf. _

He was scared. He wanted his brother to be there with him, protecting him. He wanted to be warm and safe in some backwoods motel room, fighting with Dean over what they'd eat for dinner. He wanted everything to be _normal. _

But it wasn't.

When he began to shiver, Sam realized that he had to move. He would catch pneumonia sitting out in the rain.

It was no easy feat-he had to drag himself for a hundred yards, across the muddy ground. He coughed, and then gasped in pain. Every bit of movement brought him intense agony.

He reached the shelter of the trees-they weren't perfect, but they would do. He needed someone to help him, to rescue him.

Where was his father?

SPNSPNSPN

John Winchester sat in the waiting room of the hospital, breathing in antiseptic fumes and worrying about his sons.

He'd tried to leave two hours ago, but a doctor had called him over and updated him on Dean's condition-which wasn't very good.

They had managed to get Dean breathing, but he was on a ventilator. His spleen was ruptured, and he had two broken ribs-one which had impaled his lung. He had a severe concussion, and internal bleeding.

Not to mention his leg, which was broken in two places, and his broken wrist.

He was still in surgery-had been ever since they'd arrived. John just wanted his son to be okay-to be _alive. _

He thought of all the things he had never done with his sons. Sam and Dean had never been to an amusment park, even though they'd been dying to go to one. John had never had enough time to bring them. _If Dean lives, I'll take them to goddamn Disney World. _

That was when he remembered _Sam. _Sam, his ten year old son, who was stuck in the middle of the woods with a couple broken bones and a gun.

John couldn't leave the hospital. But he could call someone.

He walked outside, opened his phone, and dialed Bobby Singer's number.

"Bobby Singer," the hunter's gruff voice answered.

"Bobby, it's John Winchester," John replied. He continued without giving Bobby an opportunity to interrupt. "Listen, there's been an accident. Dean and Sam fell from a rock wall."

"Oh my God," Bobby gasped. "Are you at the hospital? How are the boys?"

"Me and Dean are at the hospital, he's in surgery," John answered. He couldn't go into detail about Dean's condition-he would break down. "But I-I left Sam back at the site with a gun."

There was a moment of silence. John thought the call might've disconnected-but then, Bobby exploded.

"YOU DID WHAT?" he shouted, furious. _How could this man be so stupid? _"YOU LEFT YOUR TEN YEAR OLD IN THE F-ING WOODS WITH A GLOCK?"

"Bobby, I didn't have much choice!" John replied. He wasn't angry with Bobby-his ignorance had harmed both of his sons. "Sam was concious, Dean wasn't, and I couldn't call an ambulence."

"Give me the coordinates," Bobby demanded. "I'm going to get him."

John obliged, and said, "Thank you, Bobby."

"I'm not doing it for you," the grizzled hunter replied, before he hung up.

SPNSPNSPN

It had been eight hours since his father had left with Dean, and Sam was still alone in the woods.

It was completely dark now-he couldn't see two feet in front of his face. He was shivering so hard that he didn't trust himself to hold the gun without accidently pulling the trigger.

He was beginning to get tired. Extremely tired. It was a fight just to keep his eyes open-but he knew that if he let them close, he wouldn't wake up.

But eventually, they became too heavy to support, and they closed.

Just before everything went black, he heard someone shout his name.

"_Sam!_"

And then, he passed out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in Supernatural, I just borrow. **

**Thanks for all of the reviews and reads! This is the last actual chapter. I might post an epilogue if I feel like it eventually. My next story is actually already in the works; it's a lot of angsty! Sam and sick! Dean. **

John Winchester sat by Dean's bed, listening to the hum of the ventilator. It had been twelve hours since he had brought Dean into the hospital- four since he had been taken out of the operating room. It had taken six hours to repair the internal bleeding, to remove his spleen, and slowly pull the rib out of his lung.. It had taken another two to insert a few pins into his broken leg.

Dean was now sporting a black cast on his leg, and another one on his arm. His face was covered in lacerations and bruises-some were stitched up, but the others were just superficial. He also had a case of pneumonia-he was on antibiotics to clear it up.

And he was in a coma.

John just wanted Dean to wake up, to breathe on his own. He wanted to see his son grinning, eating a piece of pie-hell, even teasing him. He wanted his son back.

John's phone rang-it was Bobby. He walked outside of the ICU before answering.

"What's up?" he asked, nervous. He would never forgive himself if Sam was hurt.

"He's got a sprained wrist, a minor concussion, and a fractured femur, but otherwise he's fine," Bobby answered. "He just woke up."

"He was unconcius?" John asked, suddenly alert.

"I think he passed out as I got there," Bobby answered, his tone clipped. He was furious with Winchester-who left their _ten year old _son alone in the woods?

If John Winchester hadn't forced his sons to do this training excercise, Dean wouldn't be fighting for his life in the hospital.

"How's Dean?" Bobby asked. As pissed off as he was at John Winchester, he could sympathize with the man-John loved his sons more than anything.

Not to mention that Bobby was worried about the boy who had become almost a son to him.

"He's out of surgery, and breathing with a ventilator. His spleen was taken out, a rib penetrated his lung, and he had some internal bleeding, but they were able to fix it. He's-" John had to pause to take a breath. The devastating reality of the situation was beginning to sink in; _Dean was in a coma. _"He's in a coma."

Bobby managed to hold back a gasp. He had been expecting the news-but it was hard to imagine the lively, active teenager he knew lying in a hospital bed.

"Well, he's a fighter," Bobby managed to choke out. "He'll be up and around by this time tomorrow."

"We'll see," John replied, looking down at his son. "I'm going to go, I want to grab a cup of coffee in the cafeteria quick. I'll keep you updated."

John Winchester hung up and looked down at his son, hoping to see a twitch or any type of movement. Of course, he didn't-just Dean's battered, broken body.

"You've got to fight, Ace," John said, kneeling down by Dean's bedside. "You've got to fight."

SPNSPNSPN

Dean was struggling against an invisible wall, trying to fight his way back towards the light.

He was in agony-every part of his body was on fire. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of his family.

How could he leave Sam, his innocent, smart-ass little brother? How could he leave his father, the brave man who'd done so much for him? He knew he couldn't; he wasn't ready to leave them behind.

But he was hurting. He just wanted the pain to stop; as he began to sink again, he heard one phrase.

_You've got to fight, Ace. _

Those words gave him strength; he dug in and continued to fight, hoping that he would see his family again.

SPNSPNSPN

Sam Winchester was scared.

He was going home today-a week and a half after being admitted into the hospital. He would be sent home with two casts and a wheelchair, because he couldn't use crutches with his sprained wrist. All-in-all, he was fine.

But Dean wasn't.

He'd been in a coma for the past week and a half, not even breathing on his own. Sam hadn't seen him, hadn't talked to him-but he'd heard all about it from Bobby and his father. They were talking about reapers, and that scared him.

If Dean died, Sam wouldn't be able to live.

"Are ya ready to go, Sammy?" Bobby entered the room and grabbed Sam's backpack. "I was thinkin' we could watch a few movies at the motel."

"Yeah," Sam answered, pushing himself off of the bed. He banged his wrist on the wall, but he was so hopped up on painkillers he didn't care.

"Easy, kiddo," Bobby told the boy, helping him into the wheelchair.

When they reached Bobby's truck, Bobby had to help him into the cab. Sam hated every moment of this-his inability to do nearly _anything_ pissed him off.

But there was one thing he could do, one thing that he had to do.

"Bobby, I want to see Dean," Sam told the grizzled hunter as he started the truck. "I want to see my brother."

"Sam..." Bobby began. He was unsure of what to say; if Sam saw his older brother as he was now, he could be traumatized for life.

Especially if Dean didn't pull through.

"I have to see him, Bobby," Sam begged. "He's my big brother, and he wouldn't be in this mess if it weren't for me."

"You hold on a minute!" Bobby shouted. "_None_ of this was your fault, Sam. None of it. You didn't know Dean's rope would fail. You didn't design it. So I don't want to hear that EVER again."

"Okay," Sam quickly backed off. "But still, I have to see him! Please?"

Bobby bit his lip, but sighed. "Fine."

As they drove to the hospital, Sam hoped and prayed that his big brother would be alright.

SPNSPNSPN

When John saw Sam and Bobby entering the hospital, he was worried. He had no issue with Sam seeing Dean, other than the pain it could cause Sam. He knew that the kid adored his older brother.

He walked out into the hallway, where Bobby had stopped. Sam just stared up at him, waiting patiently.

"Sam, are you sure you want to do this?" John asked. "He's not awake."

"I need to talk to him, Dad," Sam answered. "Please, just let me talk to him."

John couldn't say no to his son; Sam had been through a lot in the past couple of weeks, and this could be his only chance to talk to his brother.

"Okay," John agreed. He pushed Sam's wheelchair into the room, and then turned to Bobby. "Let's give them some time."

The two adults left, leaving Sam alone with Dean.

SPNSPNSPN

"Dean?" Sam queried, inching closer to his sibling. "Can you hear me?"

Of course, there wasn't an answer.

"Okay, I'm going to act like you can," Sam continued. "Dean, you've got to come back to us. Dad misses you; I miss you. You've always been here for me, and you've told me to go for my dreams, but if you're not around, what's the point in it?"

Sam thought he saw Dean twitch; he held his breath. Would his brother wake up?

"I need you here with me, Dean. You keep me on track, and if you leave me alone with Dad, we're going to end up killing each other. I need my _jerk_ of an older brother here, to save me."

For a few moments, there was nothing. But slowly, Dean began to stir-just as John and Bobby walked in.

"Dean!" John exclaimed, rushing to his son's side. He was relieved-his son was alive and well.

Within ten minutes, the ventilator was out, and Dean could speak. He looked down at his brother, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'll never leave you alone, bitch."

"Better not, jerk," Sam retorted, smiling. He'd gotten everything he wanted.

Dean was alive, and their family was still whole.

That was all that mattered.

**Thank you for following this story!**


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